The War For Heaven - Short Stories
by AllHailLordGaben
Summary: For ten thousand years, the Imperium has been led by the Emperor and Empress of the Golden Throne. Locked in eternal war against innumerable enemies, mankind and its allies have held the line, for the promised future waiting just past the horizon of a million worlds. All that's left to do is live long enough to see it rise. Set in /tg/'s Nobledark Imperium AU.
1. An Emperor Speaks

**A/N: So I discovered this thing on /tg/ called the 'Nobledark Imperium,' an AU project set in the galaxy we all know and love, with the (more or less) sane people being less dick-ish to each other.**

 **A very different Imperium results. In the 41st millennium, sentient Warp-farts, endless Tyranids, and insensitive microaggressions are just a few of the problems for the civilized races of the Imperium.**

 **The AU is still in the works, and things may change after I write them down. If people are interested, I'll continue to work on short stories for this as a side project to my other story _All Fun And Games_ (no Chaos-tainted plugging here Commissars and Inquisitors).**

 **If you haven't lost your interest already, I'll leave you all with this: Warhammer 40K belongs to Games Workshop, not me.**

Please, just call me Oscar. There are no need for such formalities when it's your ceremony.

You wish to know why? That is a question I have been asked many times before. Are you sure about this? It's a very long history lesson, one that your Schola teachers have probably covered in depth.

Very well, take a seat. The Mechanicus technicians will make you comfortable.

The straps are for your own safety. Shall I start at the beginning?

Eleven thousand years ago, my adopted sons marched into the depths of hell side by side with the strongest warriors of a dying race, and struck a blow at the heart of the Great Enemy. In a display of psychic might equal to mine, my father held the portal open long enough for a god to be broken free of her cage, setting the foundation for the Last Alliance, the agreement between Man and Eldar that would uplift both our species out of the chaos of the Age Of Strife.

Centuries later, the same man, old and tired, said he was proud of me, lying in a simple white bed, connected to a panoply of medical equipment that whirred and beeped rhythmically.

He told me that I and my eighteen generals had wrenched humanity free from the horrors of the Old Night, and that they would need me to be its leader. As the spikes on a green line grew erratic, I said that no mere relic of a lost Golden Age should be the master of its creators. To think, that I would waste the last of my time with my father on an argument, of all things.

Despite that blunder, Malcador forgave me with a serene smile. For that, and so much more, I will be forever grateful to a man who found a stasis chamber in a run-down laboratory on Cthonia, and spared the life it held inside.

Then the War Of The Beast happened, leaving a trail of shattered worlds in its wake and an uncertain future on the horizon. The Imperium nearly died then, as we were pushed back further and further by unending waves of savage Orks goaded into battle by the unrepentant instigators of the Fall. In Terra's ruins, only the death of an angel and the sacrifices of heroes beyond counting was enough to allow Farseer Eldrad and I to kill the monstrous Beast at the hordes' head.

A hundred centuries have passed since, and the world has changed. The stubborn Tau suffered through multiple schisms and two thousand years out in the cold, but they now fight for the Imperium. In the Age Of Apostasy, the Demiurge helped the brave Inquisitor Sebastian Thor and myself end the rule of Goge Vandire, earning their acceptance through blood and adamantium. They are not the only ones, for among the stars are many more who have joined the Last Alliance and aid the Imperium's war efforts.

But all my eighteen Primarchs, chosen from the finest and bravest of Terra's stock, lie dead, whether by war or because of the march of time. There have been no replacements for their seats, which remain empty not only out of deference to each of their lives, but because none have been found worthy of taking up their titles.

Enemies both new and ancient have opened new fronts all across the Imperium's vast Segmentae, all thirsting for our blood. Some are clad in liquid metal, others in sculpted chitin and claws, and some are manipulators cloaked in shadows. Others are false idols which will not die, praised by legions of fanatics who seek to bring the taint of Chaos into our besieged empire. There is no mercy to be found here.

In some great irony, I, a Man Of Gold, a human simulacrum, have ended up in the Golden Throne of an empire, bonded with Isha, one of the last survivors of a pantheon of true gods. Some say that Eldrad chose an arranged marriage as repayment of his favor a way to prevent humanity from going back on its promises to the Eldar, but I suspect he really just found the idea funny.

One thing has not changed, however. The War For Heaven, the war that began so long ago, goes on, the tune of its siren call tugging the strings of every sentient being of this galaxy. Everyone heeds its call eventually.

While the morning sun shined upon Perturabo's shining Terran hive cities, a veteran of the War stepped out onto a field of mud and rain, armed with a lasgun and the blind faith of his platoon of Guardsmen. He flinched as he scanned their youthful profiles, constantly reminded of brothers and sisters who wouldn't stay in the past. The night terrors of his sleep no longer had the decency to stay out of his waking world, and he grew more and more tired as one excited private explained how he had signed up for his wife and kids back home. Few soldiers ever returned to their homeworlds after joining up, at least, not alive.

Today, when the sun sets on the Imperial Palace today, an Ordo Securitas Inquisitor may watch his acolytes celebrate the resolution of a sector-wide fraud case that drained millions of gelt from Imperial accounts. Before tomorrow's dawn, he may lie face-down at his desk, poisoned by a bottle of wine. For the Inquisitor's white-haired Sororitas bodyguard, summary execution of the childhood friend who brought it will be enough to soothe her anger. Afterwards, she will learn that it was the unwitting crime of a clueless man.

Our libraries and datastacks are filled with tales of tragedy and joy, of valor and cowardice, of liberating adventure and crushing defeat. Yet the galaxy grinds on, dragged onwards by its own inertia, careless of ghosts haunting the living or the deaths of Inquisitors and childhood friends. It takes no favors, listens to no pleas, and defies classification by human logic. With all its beauty and mystery, the galaxy has been the birthplace of our loftiest dreams and our most terrifying nightmares.

In the end, all it has to offer us is War. And who are we to deny its gift?

I do not put my faith in gods, despite the fact that one sits next to me right now. That belongs to those who call me Emperor, who struggle to maintain their shard of normality in an unforgiving universe. They fight as men and women who have everything to lose, never to receive anything better than the galaxy's gift. If we stop now, if we loosen our grip even the slightest, everything that they have lived and died for will be in vain. My faith, and by extension their faith, belongs to a promise built on hope.

One day, the War will end, and the Imperium will be witness to a new dawn, where our children are free to live and smile, to grow old in peace, no matter the price.

Have I answered the question to your satisfaction, psyker?

Good. Isha, if you would be so kind as to dull his senses to pain, thank you.

Let the soul-binding begin. Initiate proced-

 **A/N: And that is the intro, in the form of a one-sided conversation disguising a very large infodump. I'm still working on my other story, but I felt like I had to get this out there. I hope I did respect to the glorious Empy's extra-glorious self with this opening chapter.**

 **Reviews pointing me in the right direction would be appreciated. Pliss?**


	2. Imperial Arms Race

**A/N: Finally have something to add to this, even if it's rather short. Again, I don't own Warhammer 40K, and images can't be added here, so a certain "Remembrancer's sketch" will have to be found in /tg/'s Nobledark Imperium threads or on the wiki page when it's added.**

THE REGIMENTAL STANDARD: A HISTORY OF THE LEMAN RUSS TANK

" _We should've waited for the Fenrisian ale before rushing here just to find half a tractor. At least we'd've something that would lift the mens' spirits after such a disappointment._ " - Primarch Leman Russ, post-Imperial Compliance of Nova Borilia.

In today's battlefield, almost all armed forces flying Imperial banners have either used or fought alongside the Leman Russ Battle Tank. Many view it with great relief, no longer having to be at the forefront of an advance on fortified positions, others call it their "ride," and some view the Leman Russ as an inelegant and ugly hunk of metal that conceals brutal effectiveness and resilience worthy of the name. Its treads have rolled over thousands of battlegrounds, and its guns have shot down many foes... yet one wonders where the seeds for this venerable war machine were sown. If you have had the same question that we at the Regimental Standard did, read on to find out.

The Leman Russ Battle Tank and its numerous variants has its origins early in the Great Crusades, and is not to be confused with Primarch Leman Russ, who discovered it on Nova Borilia. Rumors of an STC for a tank dating from the Dark Age of Technology drew his attention to the campaign against the Noman xenos' planetary empire, already marked for destruction as Xenos Horrificus due to its brutal enslavement of the local human population and violent refusal of all diplomacy attempts. Fortunately, resistance was broken after a series of engagements that saw the Nomans and a disobedient slave army reeling from the hard hitting tactics of the Space Wolves and Solar Auxilia attachments. However, what the expeditionaries salvaged from the ruins of the last Noman stronghold was an immense let down.

The STC was, in fact, fragments of a blueprint for an all-terrain tractor that started production sometime before the Age Of Strife, not the weapon the intel had suggested. Presumably it had been mistaken for a valuable human relic, and so it was situated in the most secure collection in the Noman fortress.

But the Imperial Army would not be denied their tank, and in the span of a decade several components of the discovery were incorporated into a new design, christened the Leman Russ Battle Tank, Mark I. It set a stabilized Battle Cannon turret on top of a ceramite and plasteel hull with a ferrosteel-sprung suspension, while a complex transmission mated to an enormous multi-fuel HL230 engine gave it the performance of much lighter vehicles both on and off road (fairly ludicrous for a tracked vehicle twice as tall as a Space Marine). This ability was used to great effect, as commanders smoothly swung behind enemy positions and unloaded heavy firepower into petty tyrants and slavers.

However, as the Imperium expanded further and encountered tougher opposition, the Leman Russ proved inadequate. Its main gun struggled to defeat more heavily-armored horrors and what was left often outmaneuvered the Leman Russ, and breakdowns ranging from burnt out turbocharger components to transmission failures intensified a growing logistics headache. This led to the replacement of the Mk. I with the Mk. II-V, variants that traded mobility for protection and ease of maintenance by bolting on armor, dropping the forced-induction chargers, and in the case of the Mk. IV and V, switching to a simpler transmission. This was deemed a necessary sacrifice, as the Imperium simply couldn't afford to provide every one of its soldiers with the best equipment possible in the immediate aftermath of the War of the Beast.

That isn't to say desperation didn't proliferate the loaded idea of 'innovation.' During and after the War of the Beast, new variants were hurriedly fitted with cramped crew-operated sponsons to add anti-infantry firepower, and though inferior to the Land Raider-killing Vanquisher Cannon, a long-barreled Battle Cannon increased muzzle velocity without being difficult to produce. Later, more improvements filtered through, like a hydropneumatic suspension and lifted armor skirts that allowed the road wheels freedom of movement and together provided a more stable firing platform. Other changes included light, replaceable composite rectangles attached to the sides (sanctioned for Chimera variants and Salamanders after entrepreneurial APC crews decided they too wanted more armor) and wide-angle optics replaced the glass visor in the driver's hatch and made it possible to drive the tank and fire the hull weapon without switching seats or controls.

The Mk. XVII, created in the late 36th millennium, was supposed to use a scaled-down version of the Malcador Heavy Tank's electric drive system. You will never see this outside the Mechanicus' basements.

The Mk. XXIV Leman Russ Battle Tank is the most recent variant (see Remembrancer's sketch above), created in response to reports of a spike in Leman Russ losses due to an increased prevalence of Crone Eldar and Necron tank analogues. The Imperial Couple put pressure on Mars and the Fabricator-General to either keep the venerable tank a viable part of the Imperial Guard armory, or risk losing further contracts to Forge Worlds and workshops unaligned with Mars, many of whom were experimenting with unsanctioned tank designs. This was enough incentive to finally push the program into its field tests and evaluation stage.

It carries over the extremely sloped frontal turret and glacis present since the Mk. XX, but replaces the original hull weapon's swivel mount with a ball mount in a smaller housing. To address the vulnerability of the Leman Russ to being flanked, particularly in urban warfare, the tank was flattened to a profile 3.3 meters high. The enlarged turret is better angled to resist side shots, and the Battle Cannon magazines have been relocated to the back of the turret, where blow off vents were added. This design betters the chances a Mk. XXIV's internals and crew can survive an ammo cook-off and retreat to safety, without Atlas recovery vehicles being put at risk. Two semi-autonomous Predator sponsons (utilizing Tarantula cogitators) are remotely managed by a secondary gunner seated next to the driver. Lastly, a refined version of the Mk. I's forced-induction setup and weight reductions have allowed the Mk. XXIV to regain the nimbleness of the original, without its notorious mechanical problems.

While the newest Leman Russ might be recognizable to an Imperial Army officer of the 30th millennium, it is not the same war machine your great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandparents used. Keep an eye out for those shiny new Mk. XXIVs, and remember to report any issues to your commanding officer or a Commissar!

* * *

Some random OOU things:

*The Regimental Standard downplayed losses with the phrase "a spike." Croneworlder weapons have always taken a toll on Imperial forces, but it wasn't until recently that new, terrifying weapons showed up in Crone Eldar forces, and despite the use of tailored tactics and heavy supporting weaponry, mechanized units took heavy casualties and in more than a few cases, total losses.

**The Malcador and its variants are still in use, its Flare Shields invaluable for its role. Refinements to its engine, armor, and weapons keep it combat effective, giving worlds unable to afford 'true' superheavies like the Macharius and Baneblade for its armies access to a cheap tank that can reliably give and take hits above its weight-class.

I assumed that vanilla Malcadors have engine problems not because the engine is underpowered, but that understanding of its internals was lost (yet it didn't affect the Leman Russ, which also uses a tractor engine), hence the guess that the Malcador uses something fancy similar to the hybrid drive that the Germans tried in the Elefant tank destroyer. When the canon Mechanicus lost the rituals for the Malcador's drive system, goodbye to the Heavy Tank going fast.

***Recovery vehicles being set into an active warzone, especially one crawling with mechanical daemonic centipedes or atom-shredding beam guns? That would not end well.

 **A/N: Working on some Tyranid-Imperial combat for this AU that I started the document for a while ago, and I've run into some roadblocks with the _All Fun and Games_ , if it wasn't already obvious for my lack of updates for almost eleven months.**


End file.
